A Friend in Need
by Orlaine24
Summary: John struggles to cope after Reichenbach. Rated T due to drug use. This is my first Fan Fiction so please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

John walked past the black door and in the pit of his stomach there was a feeling of pain and loss. That had once been his flat, his home. Fate, though had decided that his life would not have a happy ending and instead he had lost his best friend at Reichenbach at the hands of Moriarty.

The more he thought about it the stronger the pain grew. Had had, at first barely survived. He felt the world had no meaning for him anymore but as time went by he slowly regained his composure and settled into a routine of work and sleep. Granted it was not the adrenaline filled chases and solving of cases but it got him through.

Every now and then Lestrade would show up and ask him to help on a case and of course John consented. He wanted to at least use some of the skill that Sherlock had taught him. After these instances, however, the pain and grief returned and he would shut himself away from the world.

And so his life continued like this for three years, three incredibly dull years.

John's phone rang for the fourth time that day. Ha glanced at the screen. Lestrade, again. _Okay if he rings again I will answer…might be interesting I suppose,_ he thought. Ten minutes later he was on the phone in a cab on the way to a crime scene. Why was he doing this again? He knew what came after but still he went hoping to feel something…anything that resembled the rush he used to get when he worked with Sherlock. By the time he reached the police cordon he regretted his agreement to become involved. There was something about the case Lestrade had described that was playing on his mind and he didn't like the fact that he couldn't work out what it was.

"This way John", came Lestrade's voice from behind a blue screen. John walked over but when he saw the body lying on the ground he turned away in disbelief. It was the body of Mike Stamford the very man who had introduced him to Sherlock on his return from Afghanistan. A wave of emotion threatened to overcome John but he just about managed to hold it together.

"Man is in his fifties…no id on the body…but judging from his bag we are assuming he was a medical professional". These words washed over John and it took a minute for them to sink in.

"His name is Mike Stamford…" John managed to say. Lestrade gave him a look of surprise not realising how John had known. Glancing towards Lestrade John noticed and continued.

"He is an old friend from Bart's. Intro...introduced me to Sherlock…" his voice coming as a broken whisper. Lestrade took this as a sign to get John away and fast. He had kept an eye on John ever since Sherlock had died at Reichenbach and knew that this was not a case he should be working on. He had helped John over the past three years but this seemed to be the worst reaction so far and he didn't want to see his friend destroyed by grief again.

Slowly Lestrade guided John towards the cordon again but John refused to have Lestrade take him home in the police car. He needed to clear his head…he needed to be alone.

John walked back to his apartment but took a rather scenic route to get there. Memories of his first meeting with the Great Detective came flooding back. Sherlock had deduced his whole life in seconds standing in that lab.

That evening he sat on his dingy sofa, watching some crap television trying not to let boredom take control. An hour later, he had given up on the programme he was watching and decided that he would go out to a bar around the corner. So putting something suitable on him he left his flat and started towards his local. On his way, however, he noticed a small club that he and Sherlock had visited while on a case. Knowing that he shouldn't, he casually made his way across the road and entered the dump of a place.

Inside, the place stank of alcohol and sweat. It was not appealing but it matched John's mood perfectly. He wasn't looking for a happy light-hearted pub right now. All he wanted was to get as drunk as possible to forget the day's events. After several drinks John did not know the names of, he was having a conversation with a boy who was less than half his age. He had recognised him from his blog. _Damn that blog!_ He thought. He made a mental note to take it down when he got home. He was angry when the boy finally left him alone. He was angry at Sherlock for leaving him like this…angry at Mycroft for not visiting him since Switzerland and angry at himself for being angry with him. _If only there_ _was something that could numb the pain…something that could help me forget for a while,_ said a voice in his head. It was then that he noticed an exchange happening in a dark corner of the club. A small vial was passed between the two men and then money was paid. Something inside John warned him against what his head was telling him to do but at that moment in time he was too drunk too care. After a few minutes he had worked up the nerve to approach the man who had sold the drugs. The man turned and looked John up and down with suspicion in his eyes.

"What do you want?" he asked trying to work out whether he was police or not. When John replied "I want what he just got" slurring his words, however, the dealer figured that John was not a policeman and just some drunk idiot looking for a high. Less than a minute later John was holding a vial of what he believed to be cocaine outside the club. He decided to go back to his flat. He had a supply of syringes there and no-one would interrupt him.

He placed the metal syringe against his skin, willing himself to try it just this once. _What harm could it do, he was a medical man after all, and he knew the risks._ He punctured his arm and let the cocaine spread through his veins. Suddenly, his vision became clearer and things were becoming sharper. This is how it felt to be high. That night John forgot all about Sherlock and Stamford. He raced around his flat and his heart was beating so fast he could barely breathe. John looked at his watch; it was three in the morning. Something felt wrong…he was beginning to feel dizzy. The last thing he saw before he collapsed on the ground was a figure standing in the doorway holding something long and thin in his right hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft Holmes entered John's flat sincerely hoping that the information he had been given was wrong. However, as he stood there on the threshold of the sitting room there was no doubt that John had indeed poisoned himself with cocaine. He remained silent and watched as John began to stumble and eventually he fell flat on the floor. Memories of his younger brother filled his head and within seconds his phone was out as he called one of his workers to come at once. He held some faith in John and presumed that he had not taken an overdose of the drug. He did not want to have to go through another addiction and withdrawal. Sherlock had been tough but that was Sherlock. John would be harder to handle considering the trauma he had been through.

Ever since the Falls Mycroft had been keeping an eye on John afraid of how the doctor would react. He had not been prepared for the reaction which John provided. Clearly his little brother had had a greater affect on John that he could ever have imagined. John had somehow developed a friendship with his brother and had broken down the barrier which Sherlock had built.

Ten minutes later John was on his way to a private hospital where he was to be kept for observation until the following morning. As Mycroft had predicted John regained consciousness within two hours and was given something to help him sleep until the morning.

John woke with a headache and realised that he had been moved. He was no longer I his flat and then he remembered what he had done. He felt sick but it was not from the drugs. He was disgusted at what he had done. He looked around his room and figured that he was in a hospital of some kind. _Who got me here?_ Then he remembered the tall figure standing in his doorway. It had been the figure of Mycroft Holmes. John felt worse. He knew about Sherlock's old habit and knew that Mycroft would not be impressed with his antics.

Just then Mycroft entered the room.

"My…Mycroft I am sorry…I didn't realise….I was drunk…and angry…" began John but Mycroft held up a hand to silence him.

"John I presume that you realise that you made a mistake last night; a mistake which shall never be repeated again", he stated. John heard the authority in his voice and understood that Mycroft would be keeping a closer eye on him for the foreseeable future. John simply nodded his head in reply knowing that nothing he could say would help his position.

For hours later found John back in his flat. He noticed that it had been cleaned and quite obviously searched by a team sent by Mycroft no doubt. He couldn't blame the elder Holmes.

He sat down in front of his laptop and opened his blog. He remembered the promise ha made himself the previous night and was about to delete it when he noticed a recent comment under his last post. It was the post about Reichenbach. He clicked on the link and began to read the comment. It was from someone in London.

"Dear Mr. Watson, I wish to send you my condolences on the death of your friend. I very much enjoyed reading your blog and the adventures you and the detective had together. I can tell that you were close and know that your own abilities were every bit as important as his from reading this blog even if you refuse to realise this. Keep your head up. Anonymous."

This was a surprise for John. He had never thought of his role as important in the cases. All he did was stand beside Sherlock and act as a replacement for a skull. He also was confused as to why someone would write so personal a message to him. He sat back and let the words wash over him again. After a few minutes of failed deduction of the writer John rose from his chair and made some tea. He pushed the comment to the back of his mind and turned on the television. There was some chat show on and before he knew it he was invested in the lives of two teenagers who were fighting about their child's real father.

He felt his eyes begin to close and as hard as he tried he felt himself drifting off. Two minutes later his head rolled forward and he slipped into a world of dreams. His dreams turned to nightmares and John was falling then drowning, Moriarty by his side. He was at Reichenbach and Sherlock was watching on with his eyes darting from side to side trying to save him. He woke suddenly as a car backfired outside. His forehead was covered in a film of sweat and his fists were clenched. He hadn't had a nightmare like that since just after the Falls and it worried him that they had returned.

Later that day Lestrade called in to inform him that they had caught the man who had killed Stamford and that he had given a full confession. John was barely concentrated and the D.I picked up on this.

"You feeling alright John you look a bit off" said Lestrade. John looked up at him and realised that it was best to tell the Inspector what had occurred.

"Last night I did cocaine after a night out. Mycroft found me and I spent the night in a private hospital. So I think that I might be a bit off Inspector" was John's answer. It come out a little stronger than expected and Lestrade looked slightly taken aback. John noticed this and added

"I'm sorry didn't mean that to come out the way it did. I'm disappointed in myself not angry at you." Lestrade understood and did not push it further. Instead he sat down and ordered John to make them both some tea. He hoped that this would take John's mind off things and an hour later it would appear he had succeeded. They talked about random bits and piece that they had seen in the news or on the internet. One particular item that a Norwegian explorer had found a lost city had taken up the main part of their conversation. Lestrade left John in good spirits and John spent a happier day in front of his laptop and finished a novel he had been reading.

As he headed to bed he noticed a letter sitting on his fireplace. He didn't remember putting it there and it hadn't been there when he had gotten home that morning. He opened the letter and read.

"I called with you today but you were preoccupied with sleep. I thought it best not to disturb you. I might try again tomorrow." It was not signed and John was shocked. Someone had been in his flat while he had been asleep and had written this letter. The fact that it remained unsigned was more worrying, however, as it insinuated that the author did not want himself to be unmasked. John's immediate thoughts were of Moriarty's gang seeking revenge but three years had passed and anyway they could have killed him on the spot. A friend then? But what friend would leave a note unsigned? Mycroft's men, who he had noticed were stationed outside his flat, had not been in contact so it was someone they had recognised. John's head was spinning, theories filing through.

Sleep he decided was the best option. He was safe as far as he could tell, for now at least, and he could deal with this tomorrow. It could wait. He changed into his pyjamas and got under the covers. He stared at the ceiling for a long time before his body finally gave into a restless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to all readers and especially Loki88 and Lorean for reviewing and giving me some motivation to continue :)

The next day brought with it uncertainty and rain for John. When he woke he found the note from the previous day sitting on his locker. It was then that he heard the rattle of his front door. Someone was trying to get in. John leapt from his bed and grabbed his revolver. As quietly as he could he crept towards his bedroom door and waited. If the intruder wanted him he wasn't going to make it easy. He could hear footsteps coming closer and he gripped his revolver tighter.

Across the city in Baker St. Mrs. Hudson woke to the same bleak day. When John had gone into hospital Mycroft had told her everything that had happened. She had rushed straight over to John's flat when he had been discharged but found him asleep on the sofa. She left a note for John on the fireplace and had let him sleep not wanting to disturb him.

Today she decided that she would try again so organised herself and hailed a cab. She looked at her watch and realised that it was still quite early. She was used to John's habits after his time in Baker St. though and knew that he would be up and about by now.

When she reached the flat she let herself in with the key John had given her when he had moved in.

"No safer hands in all of England" he had told her. She had appreciated the gesture greatly as it reminded her of a conversation herself, John and Sherlock had had after she had been attacked by the Americans.

When she entered the sitting room, however, it was empty and she guessed that John was either still asleep or out. She decided then that she would wait for him to return or wake up.

John heard the footsteps make their way around the sitting room, his ear pressed tight against the door. After a minute he put his hand to the door knob and was ready to turn the handle when he heard the kettle boiling. No his must have misheard; it could not have been the kettle surely. What kind of intruder makes themselves a cup of tea?

He wrenched the door open and shouted for the intruder to put their hands up. Mrs. Hudson did so quickly afraid that John may shoot her otherwise. He sounded very angry after all.

John stared at Mrs. Hudson in disbelief and eventually dropped his gun.

"Mrs. Hudson…wha….what are you doing here?" he stuttered.

"I'm making sure that you are alright John" she said rather calmly. "I did leave a note on the mantelpiece". Now that the immediate danger of John accidentally shooting her had passed she continued with making tea while John collapsed on the sofa. She handed him a mug of hot tea with lots of sugar as he seemed to be in shock.

"How did you get in?" he asked, not remembering about the key. Mrs. Hudson explained and then it all came back to John. After talking with him for a while Mrs. Hudson left but John was glad she had called. It was nice to see a friendly face that was not from Scotland Yard for a change. And he had greatly missed his gossip sessions with his old landlady.

As the day dragged on he decided to make an appearance at the surgery to let everyone know that he was going to take some time off. He was sure Mycroft would not be impressed if John returned to work early as John himself knew that he was not in the best mental state right now. He was a doctor after all and knew the addiction rated of first time cocaine users. He was confident that he would never use but that didn't mean that he wouldn't be tempted if he got drunk again after a particularly bad day.

Sarah greeted him at the reception desk and as John predicted received word from Mycroft that he would not be in for a few days due to some important work he was doing for the government. At least he had made it believable as Sarah knew all about his work with Sherlock and how important and dangerous it could be. John apologised and left as he noticed another of Mycroft's men stationed in the waiting area.

_He really does have all his bases covered that man,_ thought John. He spent the rest of the day wandering around the city and ended up grabbing a bite to eat in a pub Sherlock and himself you to frequent when the detective had been looking for special information. It was surprising actually just how many places he had been with Sherlock if he thought about it. The barman recognised him even though it had been over three years since he had been here. He took a seat and a menu and before he knew it was tucking in to the best meal he had had in ages. Accompanying it was a bottle of rather expensive wine (on the house) which John felt would be rude not to open. By his third glass John realised that it had not been the best idea as he was starting to get emotional. He was opening up to a man who he had never met before and who was looking increasingly uncomfortable every time John spoke.

"And this one time Sherlock dragged me out of bed to go and get milk for his tea…"

At this point the man pulled away from John and left the pub.

"Was it something I said?" he asked the barman in a confused tone. The barman who was annoyed that his punters were leaving forcefully kicked John out of the pub throwing his jacket after him. John was now angry again, not a good sign and he was not thinking clearly. He pulled on his jacket after dusting it down and headed off to the next nearest bar he could find.

Mycroft Holmes was sitting in his office when he received a text.

Kicked out of pub. Appears angry and intoxicated. Awaiting further instructions.

Mycroft read the text and placed his head in his hands. He thought John would have coped better. It appeared, however, that he would have to intervene before John did something stupid. Again. He replied to the text.

Follow him. If he tries to repeat antics intervene.

John had the feeling he was being followed but he didn't care. All he wanted now was to drink some more and have a night of fun. He found another bar and went inside. He ordered a drink and told the barman to start a tab. If he was going to have fun he was going to do it properly. The rest of the night was spent drinking, flirting and dancing with random strangers and to John it felt great. He didn't have to worry about work and he had no-one to give out to him for coming home in a state. It was all fine but he had the sudden urge for it to be better. He knew what would make it better. Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice said no but it was overpowered by his drunken self wanting to have fun. He headed towards a back alley sure that he would find what he was looking for there.

Mycroft's man noticed John's behaviour steadily going downhill all night. He let it slide as it was only alcohol he was consuming. He would end up with a bad headache but that would be the worst of it. After a few hours, however, the man noticed a change in John's demeanour. He was restless and he kept looking around him as if he was waiting to spot someone or something in the crowd. This was what Mycroft had been worried about. It was clear now what John's intentions were and so the man followed John outside as he went to find his fix. The man would make sure an exchange would never occur. Mycroft would kill him if it did.


	4. Chapter 4

John stumbled down the alley looking for a dealer. He didn't care what he got all he cared about was having a good time. Finally after hanging about for a while someone came up to him. He took a small bag and offered it to John. John took it without question and passed him some cash. He then turned to walk away but just then he was knocked unconscious by the dealer.

The dealer in fact was not a dealer but Mycroft's man. He had handed John sugar in a bag to distract him before taking him down. He knew it was extreme but his boss had been very clear in his instructions and he was going to carry them out at any cost.

He placed a call and a few minutes later there was a car at the entrance of the alley. John was placed into the back seat, still semi-unconscious from the blow. He was driven back to his flat where Mycroft's man was also instructed to stay for the night. He kept John under close observation all night and refused to let him out of the house in the morning. John was not happy about this.

"Since when does Mycroft Holmes rule my life?" he shouted at the man, " I can bloody well do whatever I like and if that is taking something to make me feel better then he has no say so." He was fuming and he made damned sure that Mycroft knew it. He couldn't keep him under house arrest forever, and he could tell that the agent was getting uncomfortable sending several texts to his boss throughout the morning. At one o clock there was a knock on the door and Mycroft entered the flat. John walked straight up to him and punched him. Mycroft was momentarily stunned but regained his composure eventually. It brought back so many memories of dealing with a teenage Sherlock. That had nearly torn Mycroft apart and now it was happening again and he wasn't going to destroy someone like John.

"John, I am not the enemy here", he said swinging his faithful umbrella. "I was under the impression that we had an understanding that you would do nothing of the kind again. It was lucky then that I have been watching." At this point he sat down on the sofa and stared at John. John knew what he was saying was the truth but it wasn't helping the fact that he still felt useless.

No wait it wasn't uselessness he was feeling it was something else. John was bored, totally and utterly bored with his crappy life. He was bored because nothing interesting ever happened anymore, not without Sherlock around. He pushed this to the back of his mind until Mycroft left after a stern lecture and the promise of more people following him around. John didn't like the thought of Mycroft watching his every move but he knew that arguing with the elder Holmes would not benefit him in any way. He nodded in agreement and finally Mycroft left along with his man but John knew they would not be far away, waiting, just in case.

Once he was alone, John thought back over the last few days and realised that his earlier deduction had been correct._ I'm starting to sound like him, _he thought to himself. John decided that he needed to do find something interesting and possibly dangerous to fill the gap if Mycroft was insistent on the no drugs policy.

John realised how mad this all sounded but if he was going to get out of this rut he was in then it was exactly what he had to do. He pulled out his phone and called Lestrade.

"I need the most annoying case you have and potentially the most interesting one too" he said when Lestrade picked up. He was aware that Mycroft would probably be listening in so he left out the danger element of his call. Lestrade was shocked to say the least as he was not used to hearing John sound so enthusiastic about anything since the Falls.

"Feeling better then I presume" and Lestrade was glad. Maybe this was a step forward for John. Maybe he would get one of his old friend's back at last.

"I have a murder committed in Brixton that might interest you. Looks like it is another serial case. I could do with a second pair of eyes on it."

"Perfect I'll see you in ten", replied John before hanging up and racing out the door to hail a cab.

Mycroft was back in his office and was fully aware of John's conversation with Lestrade. He was unaware, however, that John wanted an adrenaline rush rather that something to just keep him occupied and away from temptation.

John was going to make it like old times but this time the danger would be greater because Sherlock would not be with him to back him up. It was exactly what he was looking for. This would surely stop the boredom.

A week later and John had solved the case and he felt happy, happier than he had been in a long time. The case had ended with a stand-off between himself and the killer on a rooftop. John managed to overpower him. The adrenaline rush was spectacular and now he was out for more. Lestrade had been in contact about another murderer who was terrorising London and John was hot on his trail. He made his final preparations and exited the flat with his handgun in his pocket.

Mycroft sent a text to an untraceable number. Over the week he had figured out what John was doing. He was, after all a genius too and knew that he would not be able to get through to the doctor. He had tried his best but John was difficult and stubborn, something which he had no doubt learned from Sherlock. He had at several times tried with his able bodied team to force John to stop and realise what he was doing was something potentially stupid and even life threatening. It had been too much for Mycroft when he heard about the rooftop incident and now it was time to call for back-up. He read the text before sending it:

I need you. Please come. MH

A minute later he received a reply from the number. It simply read:

On my way.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This is the final chapter of this story. I hope you enjoy reading it. Please leave a review and let me know how I did. I love reading them! Thanks again for all the favourites and alerts.**

John stalked the quiet London streets waiting or any sign of his target. The murderer had taken the lives of innocent people but that was going to end tonight. John was going to make sure of that. For the tenth time he checked his watch. It wouldn't be long now before the man would appear. John's grip tightened around his gun, knowing that more than likely it would be used in the end. He made his way slowly along a side alley now moving like an animal stalking his prey. He was totally focused on the task in hand and nothing could stop him acquiring his target. As the city slept he moved through the empty streets. This was better than any drug, the high would last until the game of cat and mouse was over, and John would be able to function again for the next few days at least. That was enough for him, and then there would be another case and another reckless adventure to get him his fix.

Mycroft gazed at the surveillance photos and was worried. John had been hunting for this man for two hours and he showed no signs of stopping. He knew now that he should have been tougher on him after the Falls but he had underestimated the doctor. He hadn't anticipated that after three years his emotions would get the better of him and he would go of the rails. Caring as he had said before was not an advantage but suddenly Mycroft cared for John and what was befalling him. John had always been able to keep Sherlock in control, something which he himself had not managed to do. To see this man veer way of course was not pleasant but tonight it would end. Tonight everything would be solved and John would be safe and happy again. Well that at least was the plan. He could only hope for the correct outcome.

Just then his phone beeped with a text coming through. It read:

In position. Following through Brixton.

That eased Mycroft's fears considerably. Knowing that help was on hand if the situation turned bad was good. John would not be in any danger and he would survive his encounter with this murderer who was no doubt prepared for a fight.

John felt like he was being watched. _Damn Mycroft, just leave me alone for one night, _he thought to himself. Just ahead of him John spotted his target walking along the river bank. Slowly he moved forward not making a sound. He was nearly on his target when a noise from a nearby alley made him turn around. When he turned back the man he had been hunting was staring right at him. This was his chance.

"Sorry mate you don't have a light do you?" John offered holding up a cigarette. The man was suspicious but handed John his lighter all the same. John then roared into action and had the man on the ground within seconds. His army training and time with Sherlock served him well._ Damn why did you have to think of his name John, he wouldn't approve of your plans._ John faltered for a moment with that last thought hitting him. It was enough for the man on the ground to start running as fast as he could away from this apparently crazy man.

John reacted at lightning speed and chased him through the deserted streets cursing himself for losing concentration.

In the shadows a man followed the doctor hoping that he was not too late to save him. Not from the dangers of the murderer, John could take care of himself in that regard but from the path he had chosen to take. It was a dangerous one, he of all people should know and he didn't want to see the doctor take the same road, continually searching to fill the emptiness that was slowly overwhelming him. On John ran and on he followed, making sure that he would be on hand if he was needed.

The chase had led John to an all too familiar building. Bart's loomed ahead. The last time he had been here was three years ago when he had watched his friend fall to his death._ Damn Sherlock again, why can't you just leave me alone!_

The man ahead of him stumbled as he reached the roof and John caught up with him. He was completely exhausted but that did not deter the former soldier. He had survived much worse in Afghanistan so this was not a real problem.

His target was now squirming under John, begging to be let go, but John was unrelenting. It seemed that all of his emotions about that night were coming flooding out of him in that moment and he couldn't stop himself. He pulled his gun out and pointed it at the pitiful creature before him.

"Come on then, murderer not so full of yourself now are you?" John jeered, the gun inching ever closer.

"Did you really think you were going to get away with all those innocent people's lives? Well this, my friend is not your lucky day!" The words were cold and dripping with hate and disgust. If John had not been so filled with adrenaline he would have been shocked by his actions. This was not the man who was caring and polite but one who was completely overcome by the trials he had been put through.

He dragged the man to the edge of the rooftop and turned him around to face the terrifying truth of his predicament.

Had John been slightly more observant, he would have realised that they were no longer alone on the roof but that they now had company. Keeping to the shadows the figure slowly made his way around to the edge. He wasn't entirely sure of what to do now. He cursed himself, for being slow. In truth he had not expected John to be so bad. He would never have believed that he was capable of this level of torture. Not kind John who would do everything he could to help. This was a side of John which scared him, completely and utterly scared him.

If he shouted, there was a possibility that both men would fall, more than likely forward onto the street below. That was out of the question then. He decided in less than a minute the correct course of action, his brain in overdrive watching the events unfold before him.

He crept up behind John making no noise whatsoever, praying that neither would lose there balance before he reached them and pulled them back from the brink. As he approached he could hear John speaking again.

"What's to stop me throwing you off here right now hmm? The world would be rid of a murderer and the streets would be safer." At this John pushed the man further forward, his head no visible from the street below where Mycroft's men could only watch and hope.

John suddenly sensed a presence behind him. His senses had been even more alert than usual. His situation seemed to come crashing home in a split second. Here he was torturing a man, on his adrenaline seeking mission. What the hell was he playing at? This was not him; these were the actions of Moriarty.

The man beneath his grasp felt the shift in his body language and moved away from the edge. He was shocked to find no resistance from his attacker and began to run. John just stood there gazing out into the dark. There was a call of pain from behind him and he was broken out of his trance. He turned and saw the man lying on the ground writhing in pain, his leg at a disjointed angle. How the hell had that happened? The roof was flat and there was no object over which he could have tripped. Still, thought John at least he wouldn't be escaping anytime soon.

John pulled out his phone and called Lestrade. There was relief in the Inspector's voice which John recognised for the first time.

"Where are you now?" Lestrade asked. John gave his location and he was sure the Inspector cursed under his breath.

"Right, stay put we're on our way" he said and John hung up. He sat down against the door to the roof and allowed the events to wash over him. It was then that he remembered the presence he had felt behind him. There had been someone else on the roof. That was how the man had suffered the nasty leg injury. Deductions came tumbling into his mind. It had been a man skilled in martial arts, that much was apparent from the injury given. The man was tall judging from the angle of the break, somewhere near six feet. He was agile too, John had not heard him. Fast, well he had escaped without John catching a glimpse of him. A realisation hit John; the man he had been describing was an exact replica of his friend; his friend who had died here three years ago. It was impossible, but in John's mind it could only have been Sherlock on the roof with him. A line from the case The Hounds of Baskerville popped into his head: When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

_Bloody Hell,_ he thought,_ it was Sherlock, he was the one who was following me earlier._

From the shadows, Sherlock saw the thoughts racing through John's mind. He was so close now; he could see it on his face. A moment later and he knew John had worked it out. Before he could make a move though Scotland Yard turned up and he wasn't prepared to deal with an angry Les but trade just yet. He waited in the shadows until the man had been removed and placed into custody. Slowly the roof emptied until only John remained. He was sitting again with his back to the edge. He looked exhausted but content. John turned his head in Sherlock's direction and said:

"You can come out now you know, don't think for a minute that I can't see you!" Sherlock was taken aback but moved forward in silence. John stood, his eyes filling with tears. They were tears of joy. His friend was alive, after three years he was alive. Sherlock embraced John allowing a tear to fall from his eye too.

"I'm sorry John, I'm so sorry" Sherlock whispered. John took a step back to look at the detective. A minute later Sherlock was lying in a heap on the ground with a bleeding nose and John was nursing a painful hand.

"Don't you ever to a bloody thing like that again Sherlock Holmes or believe me you will be the one dangling over the edge" John said. Sherlock believed him and vowed that the next time he had a ridiculous plan to save the world he would firstly consult his doctor.

In his office Mycroft sat back in his armchair. John was safe now; he was in the capable hands of his little brother. He called Anthea and directed her to reinstate level seven surveillance on the two men.

"Sorry, whose surveillance status, Sir?" she asked curiously.

"Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson" came the reply


End file.
